"On schedule" is a phrase we usually laugh at around here, but we did get a little feeling of accomplishment out of leaving La Cruz marina yesterday morning only a few minutes after our target time of 10am. The first few hours of sailing went smoothly, until a southwesterly blew up in the afternoon and tossed us around like a toy. We had planned to sail south to Yelapa, but with the wind on the nose, we turned around and went to the other end of Banderas Bay to spend the night at Punta Mita.
Problems came up all day, confirming the truth of the old salts' warning, "Never begin a voyage on a Friday." The engine overheated. The batteries wouldn't take a charge. The Capt was suffering from a cold, and when he suffers, it's almost operatic.
I'll spare you photos of PM. From the bay you're presented with a wall of condos, with about a half-mile break and then another wall of condos. I always wonder if they get anything like 50% occupancy in all those rooms, even with the attraction of the golf course along the point of land that offers the anchorage its shelter from the north.
During the toy boat toss earlier in the afternoon, the five-gallon drinking water jug was knocked over, soaking the cabin sole. Objects went flying, including our supper. I had planned to cook up an easy black bean soup mix, adding a can of corn, and had put the two together in a container. But when I got ready to cook, it had gone missing! Other options crept through my mind, but the soup would have been so easy, I was loathe to give up on it. With all the energy I put into digging around for it, I could have probably concocted a five-course meal, but I was a first mate on a mission and I was going to find that soup or else!
Finally it turned up in the dishpan along with a few dishes we'd used during the passage. Don't ask how it got there. I mixed up the soup, added the corn, grated cheese on top, made a salad and we had supper out in the cockpit under the stars. Next to us was a big white motor yacht with a large number of gringos aboard, having a riotously good time from the sound of it. I speculated on whether they had a dishwasher, and the Capt assured me a boat that size probably had a chef and servers as well. Ice cream and steaks in the freezer. A wine steward with a white towel over his arm. Walk-in closets. A jacuzzi on the stern deck...
Ipala Beach
This morning we set out around eight, going south, and the trip was like a train ride, since the winds don't kick in until afternoon. The Capt had only slept an hour or so, and after we rounded Cabo Corrientes and landed in Ipala, he was exhausted. But he gallantly dinghied Sofia, Chica and me to shore for a little walk, a little business and a cold coke. Ipala is a tiny village perched on the hillside behind Punta Ipala, invisible from the northern approach. A few small houses, a palapa and a restaurant serving food and beer, a couple of palm-roofed beach shelters for camping and dozens of pangas anchored in the little cove. Strings of plastic bottles float here and there, marking fishnets, and we were careful not to hang up our propellor on any lines. The most striking feature of the town is a life-size figure of a shark, mouth agape, on a pedestal at the bottom of the town's single cobblestone street. It was a busy Saturday, with little boys skating their boogie boards on the wet sand into the water, a quad racing noisily along the beach, pangas heading out to fish, and a Ski-Doo towing four muchachos, coming out to investigate our boat and ask us for candy.
The Capt has had a nap and looks forward to a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we'll have a 42-hour journey to Chamela.
Sunday - We are programmed to receiveProblems came up all day, confirming the truth of the old salts' warning, "Never begin a voyage on a Friday." The engine overheated. The batteries wouldn't take a charge. The Capt was suffering from a cold, and when he suffers, it's almost operatic.
I'll spare you photos of PM. From the bay you're presented with a wall of condos, with about a half-mile break and then another wall of condos. I always wonder if they get anything like 50% occupancy in all those rooms, even with the attraction of the golf course along the point of land that offers the anchorage its shelter from the north.
During the toy boat toss earlier in the afternoon, the five-gallon drinking water jug was knocked over, soaking the cabin sole. Objects went flying, including our supper. I had planned to cook up an easy black bean soup mix, adding a can of corn, and had put the two together in a container. But when I got ready to cook, it had gone missing! Other options crept through my mind, but the soup would have been so easy, I was loathe to give up on it. With all the energy I put into digging around for it, I could have probably concocted a five-course meal, but I was a first mate on a mission and I was going to find that soup or else!
Finally it turned up in the dishpan along with a few dishes we'd used during the passage. Don't ask how it got there. I mixed up the soup, added the corn, grated cheese on top, made a salad and we had supper out in the cockpit under the stars. Next to us was a big white motor yacht with a large number of gringos aboard, having a riotously good time from the sound of it. I speculated on whether they had a dishwasher, and the Capt assured me a boat that size probably had a chef and servers as well. Ice cream and steaks in the freezer. A wine steward with a white towel over his arm. Walk-in closets. A jacuzzi on the stern deck...
Ipala BeachThe Capt has had a nap and looks forward to a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we'll have a 42-hour journey to Chamela.
The plan, at least for the moment, is to stay over here in Ipala for a day to allow the Capt to rest and try to get over his cold? flu? enough to be ready for a 42-mile run to Chamela. He had a bad night, shivering with chills under two blankets while I was comfortable with a single sheet, so I dosed him with aspirin and he soaked the sheets with sweat after his fever broke. I'm thinking of making him some chicken soup.
High point of the morning was checking in to the Amigo Net on the single sideband radio. "Big deal," you might say, but we have had single sideband since we bought the boat in 1997 and never before have been able to transmit, only receive. What's different is that we installed a whip antenna on the stern while in La Cruz, and the Capt is now in process of adding copper grounding wire which will improve our transmissions even more.
On the Amigo Net we learned that the vessel Oh, Baby is safely at anchor in Zijuatanejo. A couple of weeks ago there was a health and welfare inquiry on the radio for Oh, Baby and nobody knew its location. Now the inquiries are for Uno Mas, which was due in Ensenada in early February and has not been heard from.
Sometimes boat names rival rock band names for eccentricity. A couple of my favorites, heard over the AmigoNet, are Lost Elvis and Swamp Angel.
Melaque BeachWe decided to cut to the chase, and with one overnight landed in Melaque this morning.
When the starter wouldn't start in Ipala, the Capt had to put in an hour or so getting it going, and we lost our early departure time. This would mean arriving in Chamela after dark, which is inadvisable. The subsequent landing options, Careyes and Paraiso, would also have to be approached in the dark. No, gracias. So we just kept going. The Capt assured me that if we had trouble starting the diesel again he had only to climb into the engine compartment and give the flywheel a turn so the gear would mesh with the starter.
We were running well, with some sailing time, and sighted quite a few sea turtles here and there during the morning; we'd spot a dark lump on the water and then a head popped up, checked us out and vanished again.
There have been some engine overheating issues and some battery issues throughout this voyage, which we've just coped with as they arose. But the scariest episode was just outside Tenacatita when we were changing watch at 3 am. Smoke suddenly filled the cabin and the Capt scrambled to shut off the engine. Temp in the engine compartment had reached 140 F, and it becomes critical at 140. I was horrified because it reached this crucial point during my watch. "It may have seized," he said ominously. curled up in the V-berth, praying and trying to stay out of the way as the Capt. raised the sails and began methodically checking the engine (once the compartment had cooled sufficiently for a human to get in there).
What do you do when your engine conks out in the Pacific in the middle of the night? I do know people who don't even have engines in their boats, and do all their sailing, departures and landings, with skillful use of sails. We have been known to drop anchor and leave an anchorage while under only our sails, just to see if we could do it, but I was hoping desperately that it wouldn't come to that. And it didn't: the Capt discoveredßß a lack of coolant, and once the supply had been replenished the engine started again, bless its greasy little old heart.
Now we're anchored at Melaque in the same spot we dropped the hook last year, just off a little stone malecon walkway that includes a lookout topped by a ragged palapa, and a little outdoor amphitheater. A great place to throw the ball for Chica, and an excellent place for a walk. As the Capt was setting the stern hook, sitting in the dinghy a few feet from the boat, a manta ray flew straight up into the air a couple of times to check him out.
We counted more than ten boats here when we arrived, almost all Canadians. Ashore, we visited an RV park situated at the end of the beach, occupied by almost all Canadians. Maple leaf flags, bumper stickers and license plates abound. At this rate, we'll probably go home with Canadian accents. Yah?
Wednesday - Bring on the water taxis
We heard on the AmigoNet that the missing vessel Uno Mas has been rescued and the Coast Guard sent a general thanks for the diligence of Mexico ham folk in passing on information.
Last night, walking the beach back to the dinghy, we ran into Kak and her current crew, a couple from Canada. She's trolling for venues to perform and planned to move over to Barra de Navidad's lagoon this morning.
This morning we're also crossing to Barra Lagoon, where we can take care of some Internet banking, email and blogging. Much as we like it here in Melaque, it's risky to take the laptop ashore. Every landing we've made so far has involved some soaking, swimming and panicky dogs. At Barra, there's a dinghy landing, water taxis, wifi in the Lagoon... but it's often fiercely windy there, so we may not stay long.
Two business opportunities for this area that I think would be successful at least on a seasonal basis: some kind of beach landing assistance at Melaque such as they offer in Zijuatanejo where a fellow is hired by the beach restaurants every year to come out and help bring in dinghies. And a water taxi that would travel across the bay from Barra to Melaque and back, maybe four or five times a day.
Thursday
The plan to head for Barra fell through when we discovered the depthfinder was out of commission. We never go into Barra Lagoon with anything bigger than a kayak without a depth finder! So the Capt put on his electrician's hat and climbed into the cockpit locker to track down the bad connection, found several and had to spend the entire day going through wiring, tearing apart most of the boat in the process. I stayed out of his way in the V-berth.
Standing in the cockpit locker, Capt Electric ponders his progress
The altar at the gateway to Barra de Navidad
Barra de NavidadSo this morning we motored across to Barra and dropped the hook at the same spot where we anchored last year, just off Dog Island (Isla de Los Perros sounds so much better, don't you think?) The dogs are still there, keeping watch over their island. We got a wifi card for four days at a local restaurant, cost $200 pesos. I'm looking forward to going ashore for a run to Beer Bob's Book Exchange, a visit to the French Baker, maybe a swim at the Sands Hotel and a paleta de piña.
Made it sound easy, didn't I? Well, actually, we ran aground even with the help of the depth finder, since we didn't check the tides, and as we were sitting there in two feet of water (we need at least four feet!), two other yachties came by in their dinghies and proceeded to push us out. Success! One of them remarked that we'd gotten stuck in his spot, and I told him he was welcome to it.